


Reflections of the Deceased

by TheNobodyofaSOLDIER



Category: Death Parade (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anxiety, Comfort, Dancer Character, Death, F/M, Grief, Past Abuse, Puppets, Retrospective, Suicidal Thoughts, reassurance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:01:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28951602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNobodyofaSOLDIER/pseuds/TheNobodyofaSOLDIER
Summary: One shots of "Death Parade!"
Relationships: Decim (Death Parade)/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	1. Goodnight

[Decim x Ghost!Reader]

A look, 

a simple glance,

an unspeakable pain to the chest,

and that was all it took.

Immediately, you knew.

You were dead.

You expected no comfort from him, as his glassy eyes surveyed the scene. Your opponent shrieked, clutching her head and tearing her hair. Despite boasting her skills in this bizarre choice of game, she possessed not the strength nor the endurance to face the truth; that she too was dead.

_Dead..._

You swallowed the aching lump in your throat, and your legs turned into jelly, tingling and trembling. The world seemed to spin around you into nothing, memories of your life replaying in the theater of your mind.

Blood. 

A scream.

A pair of maddened eyes.

The gleam of a knife.

Streaks of red across the wall. 

You perceived yourself in the cracked mirror, a hollow of what you once were, shattering, falling into nothing.

It was taken from you, this gift of life bestowed on you. It slipped through your fingers like sand. 

Your heart twisted. The pain engulfed you until you lost breath.

Or was this your heart?

Did such emotions reside even in death? 

The girl at war against you crumbled to pieces. She thrashed. She screamed. She lunged at the silver haired supervisor with ravenous intent. With a wave of his hand, and a grunt from her throat, she was suddenly halted, levitating in mid air. You caught a glimpse of silver wire attached to her, keeping her in place as a puppet.

“I am quite sorry,” came low, monotone voice. 

“Let me go!!” she shrieked. “Let me go, you freak!!”

“I am afraid that is out of the question,” he replied, white face revealing no emotion. “You have lost the game, and now comes the final judgement.”

“No! No!! Fuck that!! I don’t want to die!!”

_But, we’re already dead..._

That little whisper echoed in your mind as you, at last, fell to your knees.

_Dead..._

_Dead..._

Recollections of your beloved family and friends flashed to the surface of your mind: your job, your college, all your joy and strife.

All of it...

...for nothing?

All of it...

...gone just like that?

And swiped away by some sick beast of a human...

You had so much, so much you wanted to offer, so much you wanted to live for.

Did you do something wrong?

Was this some punishment for an unknown sin?

What was it for?

Did your life mean nothing?

Decim stood and watched you ruminate. You seemed so calm, so quiet, but he noted the agony in your red-rimmed eyes, the hunch of your back, as if carrying a load far too big, the trembling of your shoulders, as if ready to be completely and utterly crushed.

Despite his cold exterior, he felt his heart ache for you.

Once your opponent regained her composure, releasing her from his prison, he slowly approached you. You raised your head.

“What,” you more stated rather than inquired.

With no words as a reply, he simply took your hand and pulled you from the cold tile. You were surprised most certainly by this gesture, but the tears continued their journey down your cheeks. You glanced away from his intense gaze. 

“I...,” you managed to speak just a little, your throat constricting in pain. “I just had so much to live for...”

He merely hummed in reply.

“But...it’s all gone,” you covered your soaking face with your palms. “I...I just miss them. I miss them so much...”

He observed, almost with a hint of fascination, at your tears. A strange urge to hold your face and wipe them away washed over him. You had lived a fulfilling life, one that was cut off far too soon.

And he admired that.

Instead, he pulled you into him, pushing your head against his shoulder. You gasped at the movement and froze, completely unsure of how to respond. 

And in a voice softer than a breath, he said,

“You can rest now. No matter what, you did the best you could.”

Your eyes widened. “Wh...Wha-?”

A palm came to the back of your neck, up and down, in a slow, soothing rhythm. 

“You lived a fulfilling life. You did the best you could.”  
Strangely enough, the tension in your chest eased away with each exhale. His voice, though soporific, contained just a hint of warmth, one you could cling to.

And as he continued these small ministrations, you clung to him, hiding your face in his vest scented with alcohol, and wept until you possessed no strength left. 

Your opponent, empty and seeking comfort, crawled to his side, gazing up at him as a lost child would.

“You did the best you could,” he said again, placing his free hand atop her head. “Both of you.”

With little to nothing left inside you, you found yourself on the verge of drifting away.

Strangely enough, a peace entered your broken heart. 

You cared not where you ventured from here.

Just as long as you could carry that peace of mind with you, and strangely enough, this man, Decim, the arbiter, could grant that to you.

“You can rest easy now,” he told you once more.

And finally, you closed your eyes.

_~Goodnight..._


	2. Dance

[Decim x Dancer!Doll!Reader]

[Reader’s perspective]

_1, 2, 3..._

_1, 2, 3..._

_1, 2, 3..._

A waltz is often seen as nothing more than a dance, a dance in triple time, performed by a couple, filled with rhythmic turns and twirls as they progress across the floor. Some with view as the pique of romance, the closest two people can possibly come without the need for physical intimacy. 

A dancer though perceives this in a whole new light. Such movements of grace and rhythm hold more value than just the pretty appearance. Every gesture, every expression, paints an elegant, surreal image of life. The pictures are subtle, pretty representations, but the meaning behind still contains such depth, views of the world that each person views differently. Two people engaging in such a union share a piece of each other with each new step as if playing out a story through a steady tempo.

_1, 2, 3..._

_1, 2, 3..._

_1, 2, 3..._

I am a dancer, and the world is my stage. It is not what I live for or just what I love: it is my life. It is my love. Friends have come and gone. Partners interchange with me.

But, the thrill of the music, the joy received from painting pictures with my movements, these are my forever companions, the blood that courses through my veins. 

I am a dancer, and the stage is my world. 

_1, 2, 3..._

_1, 2, 3..._

_1, 2, 3..._

Hair white as the winter snow, eyes cold like ice crystals, my partner’s expression reveals nothing: perfect, emotionless, placid, like a doll of porcelain. Every motion contains utter perfection and grace, unlike anything ever seen.

Almost inhuman...

Cold fingers entwine, mine with his. Eyes lock, lost in an embrace all their own. No words are spoken, not even the ecstatic beating of excited hearts. 

I feel no warmth, no rush of blood, 

Cold...

Nothing but cold...

_1, 2, 3..._

_1, 2, 3..._

_1, 2, 3..._

Twist and turn, 

twirl and step,

our limbs become brushes, painting a beautiful image across the open dance floor, doused in darkness. 

A small projection plays images at the front of my mind. I perceive myself, dancing beneath heated lights, a faceless crowd shouting and cheering with each climactic moment.

It is my heaven, my place of utter serenity. 

_1, 2, 3..._

_1, 2, 3..._

_1, 2, 3..._

I see the excited buzzing of the city streets, alit with life.

An overwhelming horn, a flash...

_C-Crack...Crack..._

My limbs grow heavy. The nerves within them numb. 

_Pain..._

A sharp ache courses my entire being.

_Move...I can’t move...Why can’t I move?_

I perceive frantic voices, echoing in the blurred mess, the brightest of illumination.

Until all goes black in an instant, like the flick of a light switch...

_1, 2, 3..._

_1, 2, 3..._

_1, 2, 3..._

Here, I am again, held tight and secure by my mysterious, elegant partner. Strings of silvery light weave from his fingers and attach to my own, my arms, legs, neck. They support me. He supports me, as a puppet master would a doll.

_A doll..._

The reeling of memories come to its end almost as quickly as it came, and I am lost only in this moment.

Limp, lifeless, nothing else matters now to what remains of me.

Only that I am a dancer, and the stage is my world,

and my partner here gives me what I need to play out that little part of my soul, a fading light lost in the dark ocean life offers. 

He is there, to hold my hand, silently keeping in time with the music,

my partner after death.

_1, 2, 3..._

_1, 2, 3..._

_1, 2, 3..._

_1...._

_Shall we dance...?_


	3. Reassurance

[Decim x Anxious!Reader]

[Decim’s perspective]

Trembling hands.

This is the first detail I notice. Knuckles whiten as her grip fastens around her playing cards. Her shoulders curve as if ready to curl away and hide from her surroundings. Matted hair curves about her face and casts shadows over placid skin. Her teeth pull and tug at the flaccid tissue of her lip, until droplets of crimson bead at the corner of her mouth.

Such is a typical reaction when human souls engage in the games at Quindecim. As their memories resurface, and the reality sinks upon them, fear intensifies, taking a hold of each player. As an arbiter, I am prepared for such situations, no matter how violent and chaotic the situation might escalate to.

Yet, her obvious terror remains subdued. Quivering fingers place down the cards, and she waits for my turn.

So, I play.

“Your turn.”

Her breath hitches in her throat. Swollen, reddened eyes tentatively rise to meet mine. Every muscle fiber inside her constricts, almost as if she is attempting to curl away and disappear from the world. 

Not once does she beg for her life. Never does she inquire to return home.

“Did I do enough?”

“Did I waste all that time worrying over nothing?”

“Will everyone be okay?”

“Did I do enough for them?”

“Was it enough...?”

Every soul that arrive at Quindecim, I learn everything about them. How I forget none of these lives, I know not how. 

This woman’s life is an illustrated story of suffering. Many tears shed, a heart broken a thousand times, a soul chained by fear. 

Just as she strains so hard to do now, she suppressed everything inside. She strived to put away such feelings. Instead of wallowing in her misery, she wore a mask, a mask of hard stone. She became a pillar that those around her could lean on. She tended to the needs of her friends and family, expecting nothing in return, only to be rewarded with demons stealing away her peace of mind, her rest, confidence, losing sense of herself. 

Yet, despite all that, she managed to muster bits of strength to push forward. 

Licking her dry, cracked lips, she plays again, soft mutters still resonating in the room.

“Will they be okay...?”

“Damn, it still hurts...”

Her breathing staggers. She waits for my turn. 

“The game is almost complete,” I say. “Don’t forget. You cannot leave the bar until it is finished.”

She swallows, the gulp resonating in her throat. 

“Yeah,” her voice cracks, rising no higher than a whisper. “I remember.”

“Then, let us continue,” and I make a move. “Your move.”

At last, she releases a breath, shaky, labored and long. She glances at her hand. She counts the cards.

And her composure dwindles. 

Resting the remaining cards in her lap, she buries her face in her glistening palms. Her emotions break free from their cage, and pearled tears streak down her face. No sound escapes, save for soft gasps and chokes. 

It proves difficult to remain detached and deadpan. An ache twinges inside, a sensation I have only recently grown acquainted with. 

What is a minor vexation to some pains me a hundred fold. 

And her pain stings colder than a winter storm.

“I tried so hard,” she whimpers into the palm of her hand. “But, nothing seemed to go well. No matter how hard I tried, things never got better.” 

For a moment, the obligation of finishing the game exists only at the front of my mind. 

“Did I do something wrong? Did I mess up?” gradually, the volume of her cries slowly escalate. “I can’t even find peace after death?!”

The cards fall from her lap as she tugs the roots of her hair. 

“I’m so sorry, Mom,” she muffles. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I tried. I’m sorry. I failed you. I was so weak! So pathetic! I’m so sorry!”

The swelling deep in my chest grows too much for me to bear in the moment. I can no longer stay still. Gingerly, I place my cards on the coffee table and move to her side. I pick up her hand from the floor and place it between her fingers. Immediately, she jolts from her grieving, looking up at me with widened eyes. 

“Here,” taking her wrists in my hand, I guide them over to the table where she places her final move. “The game is now complete. You have won.”

She freezes. All expression drains from her face. 

“Decim, you...”

“The game was won by your hand,” I explain. “This is perfectly acceptable.”

Lowering her head, her tears continue to fall. It makes perfect sense, such pain being stored away for so long.

“I’m sorry,” she says, wiping her eyes along her sleeve. “I can’t seem to stop crying.”

“Do not fret,” I reply and lay a hand on her shoulder. “This is a perfectly reasonable response.”

“I’m just afraid...I wasted my life away, focussing so much on pointless, irrational emotions...that my life literally meant nothing.”

“No, not in the slightest,” I curl loose strands of hair behind her ear.

“But, all I did was worry all the time! I would lock myself in my room, and just dwell on those thoughts for hours, with nothing to show for it-!”

Before she can fall apart, I pull her close to my chest. Her body grows rigid, as her fingers curl in my vest. My hand follows the curvature of her back, feeling every bump and point of her vertebra. 

“You did the best you could,” I tell her. 

“Wh...what?”

“You lived a fulfilling life,” I say, running my palm up and down the length of her spine. “And I respect that.”

A tense moment of silence passes by. Suddenly, her arms tighten around me. No longer does she sob.

She simply breathes, slowly, deeply. 

No more does she speak, nor does she cry.

Just a word of reassurance is all she really needed.

My own pain eases away, when I sense her tension release. 

Moments like these make my job worth while.

“There now,” I whisper. “Find your peace.

_You can rest now...”_


	4. Harmony

[Dancer!Decim x Reader] AU

Nimble fingers clasp together as gingerly and meticulously as a flower petal against cracked glass. Eyes as blue as the sea on a stormy morning meet with shattered mirrors, tainted with streaks of a thousand tears shed. As their chests press together, the separate pulses become one beat, a rhythm, a meter, a soft inflection for this euphoric artwork.

One step. Two steps. A turn.

She closes her eyes. For a brief moment, she winces as the arrow from her past pierces her heart. The movie reel of her mind replays the darkest films of her life, and she shivers. At this physical sign of her fear, he pulls her a little closer. 

She is safe here in this little place she calls her heaven: the openness of the studio, the mirrors reflecting her movements, the echoing of the music. This humble dance studio surrounds her with security and serenity, the only place she truly feels happy.

One, two, three. One, two, three. Turn and spin. 

Not once does he falter. Never does he ever release her. 

His instruction becomes truth she can rely on. No matter how mundane his words seem, she knows he speaks no lies behind his aloof, ivory face. 

A pause.

She shifts in attempt to avoid his gaze, for he sees right through he crumbling facade. A fingertip trails down her jaw, urging her to look at him. 

Such cool, gentle eyes, like the blue of an autumn sky. 

No smile touches his lips, but she senses his assurance through the clutch of her hand. 

Slowly, she exhales, a silent breath.

The music ends, and he steps away for only a moment. 

“Your tempo was slightly off at the beginning,” he states, tapping his index to his chin. 

She nods and lowers her head just a little. 

“Yes, yes, you’re right.”

With the grace of a swan, he maneuvers over to the stereo to replay the elegant, piano sonata once again. He steps before her with a small bow and an extending of his hand. With a little small, she slides her fingers into chilly fingers, and once again, he pull her to him, securely, delicately. Bodies press together becoming one. 

Heart beat in time.

In perfect harmony.

And once more, the dance begins.


End file.
